Thanksgiving
by random fanfic writer
Summary: Sean Cameron celebrates Thanksgiving at various points of his life.  Ch. 2  Season 3.  Thanksgiving with the NelsonSimpson clan sounds heavenly to Sean after his family's previous Thanksgiving.  What could possibly go wrong?  In a word?  Everything.
1. Thanksgiving 2000

Disclaimer: I don't own Degrassi nor do I claim to. I do however like to play with the characters.

A/N: The idea behind this story is a look at Sean Cameron every few years through the lens of Thanksgiving. I thought starting the first chapter on Canadian Thanksgiving (yeah, I know it was Monday - I'm a bit late) and attempting to finish by Thanksgiving in the US would provide a nice time framework. I am American and I don't know a lot about Canadian Thanksgiving customs so please forgive me if I make an error or two (I did run it by a Canadian friend . . . so I tried?)

Also, this, like most things I write was inspired by my friend, Eva.

Thanksgiving was not one of those holidays the Cameron family celebrated well. Sure, there would be turkey, if Mrs. Cameron was lucky enough to find one to fit into the budget. Usually though, it was canned ham and instant mashed potatoes. Any money spent on the meal would be the liquid portion of the meal and usually downed before the Maple Leaf's game had even had the opening face-off. At the first intermission, Tracker would take his little brother into the kitchen, heat up the ham in the tiny oven and pour some potato flakes into water on the stove. The two of them would eat a meal together ignoring the sounds of their father's snores from where he lay passed out on the couch, their mother beside him.

It wasn't much of a holiday, but it was tradition and a day off school and Sean had trouble arguing with anything that got him out of school.

Which is why twelve year old Sean was so apprehensive, when he walked into his parent's house to find the entire place filled with the smell of a baking turkey. He hadn't expected much as Tracker had moved out of the house for a job in Toronto that summer, removing Sean's only actual support system, such as it was. But apparently his mother had outdone herself. The table had an actual table cloth on it and a pumpkin pie from a local shop in the center. Sean didn't realize his mother owned a table cloth.

The surprises didn't end there, however, as Tracker walked out from the kitchen and greeted his brother.

"Tracker!" Sean cried. He started to embrace his brother before realizing he wasn't a boy anymore and pulled back at the last minute. "I mean, how you doing?"

Tracker looked bemused at Sean's last minute change of heart. "Better than you, I hear, little bro."

Sean looked down at his shoe tops nervously. "So . . . umm . . . you heard about that?"

"Heard that you got jumped on your way to school last week? Or heard that you responded by hitting the kid so hard in the head they're not sure he'll ever hear again, let alone what other brain damage you might have caused?" Tracker asked, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice.

"For that to happen, he would have had to have a brain to begin with," Sean muttered, turning away from his brother.

"You think this is a joke, Sean?" Tracker lashed out, angrily.

Sean knew he should feel guilty or at least somewhat relieved. It was a serious thing and if Tyler or his parents had decided to press charges, Sean could have spent some time in a juvenile facility. However, it was hard for Sean to summon up even a little bit of pity for someone who had made his every moment that past two years into a living hell.

And Sean would be damned if he would get a lecture from Tracker on seriousness. Coming from a guy who just recently moved out of his parent's house, worked in a bike shop and brought home a different girl every night, Sean wasn't sure which Cameron brother had the bigger joke of a life.

Tracker seemed to give up on getting any sort of response out of Sean, though, and went back into the kitchen muttering. Sean needed to get out of the sitcom style Thanksgiving scene and retreated to his room. He threw his bag down on his bed and grabbed the basketball by the door, dribbling it one-handed as he sat on the bed thinking.

He was lucky he had gotten off without any sort of punishment, other than a week's suspension from school and he _was_ thankful for it. Fortunately, the Bishops were too afraid of what would be revealed in court proceedings should Sean admit what had prompted him to hit Tyler so hard he would be semi-disabled the rest of his life to actually follow through with police action. Still, if Sean couldn't control his anger, he knew it was only a matter of time before someone else would get in his way and maybe next time he would be less lucky. It was hard to find some reason not to be angry with his lot in life, as he looked around his tiny room in a small mobile home with two parents who were ordinarily too drunk to notice his existence. Surrounded by rich kids at their parents beach houses, it was difficult to relate or control his resentment at the hand life had dealt him so far.

Plus he was going to get screwed over anyway. Why not get in a few licks before being brought down?

"Sean?" his mother's voice called to him from the dining room.

He couldn't help the feeling of dread that washed over him as he went into the living room and noticed his father sitting at the head of the table, stone sober. Nothing good ever came of his father sober. Nothing good ever came of his father drunk either, but at least that was normal. Sober meant it was something special. Something "important."

Maybe the Bishops had changed their minds? Was this going to be his last meal before jail food? Sean tried to bite back his growing panic by rationalizing that most meals at a correctional facility would probably be better than his mother's vodka inspired 'cuisine' or his own clumsy attempts to fend for himself when she passed out before he got home. It didn't much help.

Tracker, Sean and Mr. Cameron helped themselves to large portions of turkey and real mashed potatoes, stuffing, green beans and rolls before Sean's mother cleared her throat. "Would someone like to say the blessing?" she asked, tentatively.

Sean's eyebrow shot up and he looked for Tracker for answers. He couldn't remember the last time they had stopped to bless a meal, holiday or otherwise. He couldn't actually remember a time when all of his family sat down to eat one, but that too seemed irrelevant. Tracker, however, gave nothing away. He turned to glare once at his father, before volunteering.

"Thank you for each other and this meal," he started, bowing his head slightly. "Thank you for not letting my dumbass bro-"

"HEY!" Sean objected at the same time his mother made a small clucking noise in the back of the throat.

"Sorry, Ma. Thank you for sparing my younger brother a fate worse than death, deserved or not, and help him to get his anger under control," Tracker finished, looking not at all sorry. "Amen."

Sean glared at his brother across the table as his parents whispered their own Amens. Tracker cocked one eyebrow, as if silently challenging Sean to do or say something to prove his prayer was much needed.

Instead, Sean angrily took a bite of stuffing. Tracker smirked and returned to his own meal.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Mr. Cameron mentioned a fluke goal during Opening Night's Montreal-Toronto game. Soon a simple small talk about hockey had turned into a full fledged discussion on whether Curtis Joseph had the skills and save percentage to carry them through the regular season.

"He's 33 years old, Dad!" Sean argued vehemently. "He's got maybe two games left in him!"

"Whether he's 33 or 43, he had his best goals against average in his entire career last season. That's not a fluke," Tracker argued right back. "You see this guy live, Seany and he's got reflexes like a cat."

Sean scoffed. "Yeah. Like you would ever invite me to Toronto for anything."

For a moment, it seemed as if a flash of hurt crossed his older brother's face, but it was soon replaced by a smirk that very clearly indicated Tracker knew something Sean didn't. All at once, Sean's earlier fears and suspicions came crashing back down on him.

"About that, Sean," Mrs. Cameron started gently. "Your father and I were thinking that may be just what you need."

"You really want me to visit?" Sean asked Tracker, looking for any trace of hesitation. He wanted to be wanted, not to be a burden on his older brother.

"Not exactly," Tracker answered, looking to his mother to continue, but she seemed to have lost all power of words.

"Not exactly?" Sean repeated, feeling the earlier suspicion gnaw at his stomach. "What _exactly_ then do you want me to do in Toronto?"

There were a few strong silent moments as everyone tripped over themselves to _not_ answer his question and everyone glanced at each other around the table, looking everywhere but at Sean himself.

Tracker finally sighed, exasperated. "How about you move in? Get away from Wasaga. Get away from trouble."

"Move in? Away from trouble? You want me to run away?" Sean asked, confused.

"It's not running away, Sean. It's starting over," his mother answered, trying to take one of his hands in hers.

Sean pulled away angrily. "No. No way. I'm not a coward. And I'm not running from this."

"If you go in a few weeks, it's the end of the quarter and it will be easy to transition. There's a school right by Tracker's place, called Degrassi. It seems quiet and has a good graduation rate," Mrs. Cameron continued.

Sean couldn't believe what he was hearing. They had _researched_ schools in the area. How long exactly had his family been planning on betraying him?

"Easy transition? Graduation rate?" Sean sneered, unable to keep his feelings out of his voice. "Tell me, did you rate the local female population on a scale of 1-10? Because I'm going to need at least a 9 to tempt me." He stood up from the table, pushing his chair back so hard it toppled over behind him. "I'm not leaving!"

"Damn it, I told you he wouldn't go. Too damn stubborn for his own good," Mr. Cameron said, pushing his plate away as if in disgust. He turned to Sean angrily. "Who said you had a choice in the matter?"

Suddenly the reality of the entire night set in. This had been his last meal, but not before jail. His parents were sending him away. He had finally pushed them too far and they wanted him gone. Sean knew that they were mostly useless drunks, but they were all that he had.

Sean felt sick inside as he looked from his mom's anxious face, to Tracker's guilty countenance and finally to his dad's, unreadable except for disgust. If they didn't want him, fine. He wouldn't stick around where he wasn't wanted.

"You want me gone? Fine. But screw this end of the quarter shit. I won't stay another minute in a place I'm not welcome," Sean seethed, stomping off to his room. He grabbed his duffle bag from the closet and started putting in as many essentials as he could – clothes, his walkman, his lucky jean jacket – trying to ignore the arguing from the other room.

"Well . . . that could've gone better," Mrs. Cameron ventured timidly.

"What did you expect, Ma? Thanks for kicking me out, glad you all agreed before asking my opinion?" Tracker snapped back at her. Sean inwardly made a note to forgive Tracker fairly soon. For one thing they would apparently be living with each other and for another, he sounded as disgusted with the situation as Sean himself.

"I need a drink," Sean heard his father say. "Talk about a waste of a good meal."

Sean lay back on his bed – correction, his former bed and stared up at the ceiling. That's all he would ever be to them, he realized. A waste. A waste of a good meal, a waste of a good education, a waste of a child. A child so horrible they couldn't handle him without retreating into the hazy world of alcohol and even then needed to ship him off to anyone who would take him.

Well forget them, then. Sean didn't need them. He didn't need anyone at all. He would prove it to them and the entire world. He would be better than this.

He stood up and slung his bag over his right shoulder. Striding into the living room, he stopped only long enough to say, "Mail the rest. I'll be waiting in the car."

Tracker got in beside him not long after, a plate of leftover turkey and trimmings covered in foil in his hand. "Ma didn't think you got to eat much." It was a gesture that at any other time would have touched Sean; it would have given him faith that in spite of everything, his mother did love him in her own way. Now it seemed one more way to mock Sean for believing in any of that to begin with. He was better off now. As long as he was on his own, no one else could betray him again.

The entire ride to Tracker's apartment was silent, the air tense. Tracker concentrated on driving, glancing every so often at his passenger. Sean for his part stared out the window thinking of what the future might hold, but also what he was leaving behind.

He couldn't help but think that as imperfect as his parents were, if they didn't want him, how would he ever find someone who would?

After what seemed like forever, tall buildings appeared on the horizon, their lights twinkling brighter than the few stars in the cloudy sky. A sign appeared on the outskirts of the city. "The city of Toronto wishes you and your family a safe and happy Thanksgiving."

Sean couldn't help the audible snicker that escaped him, momentarily drawing Tracker's attention. As far as Sean Hope Cameron was concerned, he had no family. Happy Thanksgiving, indeed.


	2. Thanksgiving 2003

A/N: I own nothing - I think I just paid off this laptop. This particular Sean Cameron Thanksgiving moment is set in season 3. Thanks to those who reviewed - I hope this next installment does not disappoint.

Thanksgiving 2003

Sean Cameron stood in front of Emma's door, trying to calm his nerves before knocking. A pumpkin pie in a pink pastry box was balanced on one hand while the other raked through his hair. He wasn't used to having his head uncovered these days, but he figured a holiday deserved a little more dressing up then his typical bandana-hoodie deal.

Last week, when Emma had asked him it had seemed so innocent and natural. Now it seemed like a giant test that he was doomed to fail again, remembering last year's amazingly horrific sushi date with Emma's parents. He didn't want to show them again how he wasn't worthy of their daughter.

Putting the pie box down he took a moment on Emma's porch to collect himself and remember the hallway conversation that had brought him here.

"So about Thanksgiving?" Emma asked as she watched Sean gather his books from his locker.

Instantly Sean's whole face darkened. "What about it?" he practically growled.

"Is Tracker still going to Wasaga?" Emma asked timidly. The force with which Sean slammed his locker shut was all the answer she needed. "And you're not?"

"Do I _really_ need to answer that for you?" he asked. "They gave up any rights they had to holiday visits when they gave up on me." Sean started to stride down the hall, before he sighed and returned to where Emma still stood, looking more than a little shell-shocked. "I'm sorry, Em. I'm not angry with you. Just it's not the easiest time of year, you know?"

Emma nodded, taking one of his hands into hers and lacing her fingers with his. "I know. But it won't get any easier if you keep spending it alone." Sean started to pull away again at her words, but Emma gripped his wrist with her other hand, challenging him to look her in the eyes.

When he did, she continued, "I'm not saying 'Go to Wasaga,' Sean. I mean, I think you should, but until you're ready it won't help anything. I'm saying don't spend Thanksgiving alone. Spend it with me?"

"With you, huh?" he said, squeezing her fingers slightly. "And who are you spending it with?"

"Well, with you, hopefully. And Mom and Snake and Jack. Caitlin and Liz can't fly out and Joey is going to his mother's or else we'd have Joey, Sydney, Craig and Angie, too," She listed the names as if they were family and Sean realized that to her they were. She had this huge loving support group that he couldn't even imagine having grown up with, even if conventional wisdom claimed his two parent household was more "stable" then her single teenage mother. "I know you don't like big things, but it's really just my family. Please come. No one should be alone on Thanksgiving, Sean," she pleaded.

Sean smiled a bit at the hopeful look she had in her eyes like she was afraid that he could actually say "no" to her. It hadn't happened yet. "Well, when you put it that way . . ." he replied, his smile showing how much he was teasing. She hugged him tightly before pulling back to race to her next class, letting her fingertips linger in his as long as possible.

Miss Nelson had called later that day with a more formal invitation and Sean had replied that he'd be honored in a stilted sort of way that Tracker mocked for the next week. Sean could tell that his brother was relieved he wasn't spending his holiday wallowing in past hurts, though. Tracker liked Emma, despite their first meeting, and threatened to tell their parents all about her, until Sean made him swear to secrecy. He didn't want his parents to know about anything in his life, particularly Emma. She was too good for them, too good for him, really, but she hadn't seemed to notice. Sean couldn't help feeling meeting his parents would be the one thing that would finally get her to realize that, despite her efforts to foster a reconciliation.

He had offered to bring something, to which Mrs. Nelson directed him the bakery that had made the pie that now sat at his feet. Probably melting or getting cold or whatever it was pumpkin pies did when they were left outside too long by chickens disguised as boyfriends.

With the sobering thought that he could ruin the very simple part of the meal he had been given, Sean picked up the pastry box and knocked firmly on the door.

Emma answered it quickly, almost as if she had known he was there, before pulling him in quickly by the lapel and shutting the door quietly behind him.

"Em, what?" Sean started, but Emma kissed him quickly.

"Shhhhhhhhhhhh," she breathed as she pulled back.

If that was her method of shutting him up, it wasn't exactly incentive to stop talking, Sean thought wryly, but he wisely decided to keep that thought to himself.

He suddenly sniffed a strange odor in the air and raised one eyebrow in question.

"Mom's having a little trouble with a new recipe and she's terrified that you won't like it. No matter what, you have to _pretend_ to enjoy it," Emma demanded.

"Enjoy what?" Sean whispered. "It smells like motor oil."

Emma pulled back looking slightly miffed. "It's not motor oil; it's tofurkey." She reopened the door and then slammed it, calling out loudly "Sean!" and hugging him.

She had perfect timing as Miss Nelson came out of the kitchen just as Emma was pulling away. "Sean," she greeted him. "I'm so happy you could join us. And you brought my pie! Thank you so much."

"Thank you for the invitation, Miss Nelson. The pie is nothing, really," Sean said, awkwardly avoiding a hug by holding the pink box out to her.

"Snake's in the kitchen whipping his 'top secret' potatoes, so we're not allowed in there until he finishes with his secret ingredients," Emma confided, giggling. "Plus, I don't actually think he knows what to do with the tofurkey."

"Which means we're out here VISITING WITH SEAN!" Spike shouted into the kitchen, smiling.

"Sean?" Snake shouted, ducking his head through the door. Sean caught a glimpse of a red apron that appeared splattered with potatoes. "Sean can come on in. Mashing potatoes is _manly_ work." Noticing Emma's raised eyebrow he quickly amended his statement. "I mean that in a completely non-sexist, holiday joking sense of the word manly, of course."

Around the friendly banter, Sean couldn't help but relax. He joined Snake in the kitchen to help with the mashed potatoes, for which the secret ingredient turned out to be merely paprika – hardly an earth shaking secret considering its distinctive reddish hue.

There was no televised hockey here, just conversation and food. It was light and happy, even if everyone seemed a bit distant. Sean knew that Emma was distracted by some SITE event she had planned for the next week and Spike was distracted by Baby Jack and even Snake seemed a bit spacey in spite of his large print "Kiss the Cook" declarations.

It was a small complaint really, when compared to the Thanksgivings of his childhood and Sean was grateful to have been included. He felt a bit like a voyeur on a happy family scene at times, but he knew it was his own inability to let his guard down more than any sort of deficit on Emma's family's part to make him feel included. He was given the honor of bringing the pseudo-turkey to the table for Snake to "carve," which Sean did with a small smile of pride.

"We're not really a religious family, Sean, don't get the wrong idea," Snake started before he cut into the sorta turkey. "But I think there are certain moments, where you have to give some sort of acknowledgement to a higher power. And standing here for my first Thanksgiving with my beautiful wife and our beautiful children and someone who has been a great friend to my daughter, well I can't help but want to say 'Thank . . ."

Later Sean would describe it as if the air had simply gone out of Snake as he abruptly stopped speaking and slowly deflated, his eyes rolling back into his head.

"SNAKE!" Spike shouted at almost the same time as Emma. Jack sensing the confusion or perhaps startled by the noise from his carrier seat began to scream. Sean reached Snake first and rolled him gently onto his back.

"Emma, call an ambulance," Sean said, his voice calm and firm. "He's breathing, but we don't want to take any chances."

Snake stirred slightly, before actually waking to stare at the assorted faces above him. "What happened?"

"You collapsed," Spike sobbed, still visibly shaken. "Emma's calling the ambulance now. Don't move."

"No!" Snake demanded, his voice so sharp that Emma dropped the phone in surprise. "I mean - don't. I just fainted. I did the other day after class. I think my . . . uh, I think my blood sugar's a bit low."

"You fainted the other day?" Spike's voice was still tinged with tears, but now the predominant tone was one of anger. "Were you planning on telling us?"

"I didn't want to worry you," Snake explained, sitting up to lean against the sink. "The doctors don't have the test results back as to what this thing _is _and I just . . . didn't want you to worry."

"Well, you did a fabulous job of that!" Spike wiped at her tears angrily.

Emma was standing watching her parents argue in louder and louder voices as Jack wailed in the background. Sean felt more than a little uncomfortable watching their argument and moved toward pulling Emma to the door. She didn't need to see this after the scare she had just had. He knew that Miss Nelson was probably reacting out of fear and stress more than actual anger, but it wasn't something her children needed to witness.

Emma snapped out of her trance long enough to nod toward her brother, and Sean silently agreed, moving slowly out of the kitchen without her. In a few moments, Emma followed through the swinging door, carrying a still wailing Jack in her arms.

"Shhhh, Jackie, don't cry," Emma whispered to her brother, her own shock wearing off to the point where she herself was in tears. "Your daddy will be alright. Everything will be alright."

Sean's heart broke a little bit as he watched her and he moved behind her to try and embrace the both of them. There wasn't much he could do to help heal Snake's blood cells, but he could offer whatever support he could.

Emma pulled away sharply, indicating her brother in her arms. "Sean, not now, okay?"

Sean's response was spared by the entrance of Snake and Spike. The apron had been shed in favor of a heavy coat for both adults. "Em, we're going to run to the hospital to make sure that this isn't something more serious," Snake said, his voice thick with forced levity as if to make up for the ugly scene both teenagers had just had to witness.

Emma nodded, all trace of her earlier tears miraculously gone, Sean noticed. She was so good at hiding her emotions that if he hadn't been here to witness her breakdown, he might not have believed it had happened either.

"Can you watch Jack, Em?" Spike asked softly, her own face still streaked with tear tracks. Sean was struck by how the two Nelson women could be so completely similar in some aspects and completely different in others.

"Of course, Mom," Emma smiled perkily, although Sean noted it didn't reach her eyes.

"Thanks, baby. I know I can count on you," Spike whispered, hugging her daughter tightly.

Sean watched Emma's body stiffen at her mother's words and felt a sort of kinship with her suddenly. It seemed he wasn't the only one that had to keep a careful guard in place for protection. While Sean protected himself from his parents, Emma protected her parents from her own fears.

"Sean," Snake started as if he suddenly noticed him standing there. "I'm sorry this wasn't the holiday you expected. Please, you and Em help yourself. Don't let those top secret mashed potatoes go to waste, right?"

"Mr. S, don't worry about me. Just get yourself checked out," Sean said. He wanted to hug him or shake his hand. To do something to indicate that the small glimpse of happy family life was more than he had received at any previous holiday and he was grateful. But Mr. Simpson looked so frail, that he ended up just giving a small halfway.

Miss Nelson smiled at Sean as if she understood completely and Sean somehow wondered if maybe she did.

The two left finally, Emma watching out the window until her parents' car was out of sight. As soon as they were, she turned to Sean with a small apologetic smile, Jack still wailing in her arms.

"I'm going to see if I can get him to go down. When he gets like this, sometimes he just tires himself out," she explained.

"What can I do to help?" Sean asked.

Emma shrugged. "If you wait, I'll make you a plate to go before I put all that stuff away. Forgive me if I'm not exactly hungry after . . . everything, you know?"

"I can make my own plate and put things away, Em. Or let me hold Jack while you do it," Sean offered, anxious to offer some sort of support.

"I can handle it, you know?" Emma snapped back at him. She wasn't sure she could, but she couldn't allow herself to depend on someone that would leave her. Not when she was so close to losing the only dad she ever had. "I don't _need_ your help, Sean." She didn't. Not yet. And she couldn't, or at least wouldn't, allow herself to get to a point where she did.

Sean himself knew better than to think that she would admit that she needed him, but he had hoped she would be able to say she wanted his help. But why would anyone want him around? After all, hadn't his parents made that abundantly clear three years ago? Sean reminded himself angrily.

"Fine!" Sean huffed, too angered by her words to try and rationalize why she was lashing out. If she wanted to attack the one person that was trying to help her, it didn't mean he had to stick around for it. "I'll see you in school. If you can _handle_ that, that is."

He stomped out the door, slamming it behind him. He paused for a moment to catch his breath, glancing through the living room window. Emma was sitting on the couch, rocking her brother, her sobs joining those of her brother's. Immediately he felt a deep regret, although he was too proud to go back in to where he knew he was needed. If Emma wouldn't admit it, he wasn't going to force the issue.

Turning away and walking down the steps, his face expressionless, Sean couldn't think of a moment where he had better demonstrated he didn't deserve her. Yet he still couldn't turn back, his mix of anger and stubbornness overriding any feelings of guilt.

Sean should have known better to get his hopes up for tonight. The location and faces may have changed but he was still Sean Hope Cameron and it was still Thanksgiving Day.


End file.
